


Disintegration (Four Months to Disappear)

by zeldadestry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: 100_women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:30:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June begins and every time Lisa steps outside her house she starts to worry she’s forgotten something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disintegration (Four Months to Disappear)

**Author's Note:**

> Would follow after episode 621, so spoilers for that!  
> prompt 96, 'memories', for 100_women fanfic challenge

June begins and every time Lisa steps outside her house she starts to worry she’s forgotten something. She goes through her bag, mentally checking off everything she needs. Car keys, yes, house keys, yes, cell phone, yes, wallet, containing cash, credit cards, and driver’s license, yes. She’s even got what’s not necessary but nice to have on hand: sunglasses, lipstick, refillable water bottle, a notepad, a pen, even a little silver case with her business cards tucked inside, because, honestly, she’s always meeting people who are stressed or bummed out and could really use some yoga.

“I have everything,” she tells herself, but she knows it’s not true.

 

Ben picks at his dinner. “Can I watch TV?” he asks, dropping his fork.

“Sure,” Lisa says, forcing a smile. He bolts from the table and she picks up both of their plates and takes them over to the counter, covers them with tinfoil and slides them into the fridge so that the food won’t be wasted. The clock reads seven thirty six and she stands in front of it, nibbling at her lower lip, trying to understand why she’s so tired.

 

She wakes up over and over again in the night, thrashing underneath her blanket. Around dawn, she finally manages to catch hold of a dream image and keep it with her into consciousness: arms holding her back while someone, someone dear and innocent, is murdered right in front of her.

Shit, she thinks, as she brushes her teeth. Fucked up anxiety dreams. Why am I so freaked out by the car accident when both Ben and I are ok? Is it because I can’t remember? She touches her fingertips to her forehead, moves them up, over the crown of her head, and then all the way down the back of her skull until she reaches her neck. Doctor at the hospital said I was fine, absolutely no neurological damage, so if I can’t remember it’s because I don’t want to, right? She stares at her reflection like she’s waiting for it to answer back.

The next morning she wakes up with a name: Matt.

 

“Ben?”

“Yeah?”

He’s sitting at the side of his bed, a comic book in hand, but she can tell he’s not really reading. “Do you remember someone named Matt?” He flinches. She sits down on the floor, at his feet, rests her hand on his knee. “Baby, I’m sorry, but it’s- I think it’s important. What do you remember?”

“I didn’t like him at first but it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t because of him, it was just because he wasn’t-” he trails off, throws his comic book at the wall.

“Hey, hey,” Lisa says, running a hand up and down his arm. “It’s ok. It’s ok.”

“I liked him, I did,” Ben protests, “it’s just that he wasn’t-”

“Wasn’t what?”

“Someone - someone else.”

 

The July days are growing hotter and more humid and Lisa finds herself drawn to go out at night. She arranges visits for Ben with his friends, sends him to other people’s homes for sleepovers, and doesn’t even bother to do her hair, put on makeup, or wear something pretty, she just heads to the roughest bar in town and stares.

Someone, she reminds herself, scanning the crowd. I am looking for someone else.

“Are you careful?” the bartender says, on a slow Tuesday night, as she hands Lisa the mineral water she just ordered.

I’m not drinking, Lisa thinks, so why do I constantly feel like I’m drunk? “Am I careful?” she repeats, slowly, her tongue feels thick in her mouth.

“Yeah, I mean,” the bartender blushes, “you leave with a different guy every night, and that’s cool, a lot of the guys here are awesome and I’d flirt with them even if I wasn’t being paid to do it, but there are some real assholes around here, too, and I’d hate to see one of them hurt you.”

“I think someone already did,” Lisa says.

“Oh, honey,” the bartender reaches for her. “I’m sorry.” She strokes her calloused thumb back and forth across the thin skin covering the back of Lisa’s hand.

Lisa shivers at the touch.

 

In August, she sends Ben to her sister’s for the month. A voice has started talking to her. It sounds like her own, but it says things she would never even think, calls her names, taunts her. “You liked it,” the voice says. “Admit it. When I was inside you, for the first time in your life, you felt real power. He sent me away, but I’ll be back. We always return, when we find a tasty meat suit to play in. And when I’m back, you won’t have to worry anymore, because you’re going to remember everything.”

“Really?”

“Promise, baby. And if you want revenge, I’ll help you, because you’re so sweet, Lisa, you know that? Even if you wanted to break someone, you wouldn’t know how.”

“You know what happened?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’ll tell me?”

“Of course.”

“But you wouldn’t break me?”

The voice laughs. “Honey, that job’s already been done.”

 

“Lisa, Jesus, are you ok? Talk to me.”

Don’t answer him, the voice, inside her now, part of her, the two of them working in tandem, says.

“Where’s Ben? Is Ben ok?”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Lisa says, out loud, because she wants to make sure the voice listens to her.

You’re so close, the voice says, so close to making him pay, to guaranteeing he’ll never be able to do to anyone what he did to you. Don’t you want that?

“I don’t want -” Lisa looks at the man in front of her. “I don’t want anything.”

Don’t you hate him?

“I don’t care. Look at him. He’s nothing.”

“Lisa,” the man says. “You need to sit down.”

Do what he says.

Lisa perches at the foot of an unmade bed. The man runs the faucet in the bathroom and brings her a glass of water.

Drink it. The voice sounds smug. Bastard’s getting sloppy. You make him sloppy, just like the last time we faced off. Doesn’t say Christo, doesn’t break out the holy water, such a fucking moron, can’t wait to see the look on his face when we gut him.

The man watches her as she sips from the glass. “You hurt Ben.” She remembers that. “You threw him against the wall.”

“I was - I swear I was trying to protect him.” His voice trembles.

Hear the self-pity? Can’t wait to get my hands on his neck. Gonna do it slow, wanna leave so many marks.

“No,” Lisa whispers.

The man leans in. “What is it?” he murmurs. “Come on, Lis, talk to me.”

I don’t want this, she pleads with the voice. I told you, I don’t care anymore, I don’t want to look at him, I don’t want to touch him, I don’t want to be tied to him, I just want it to be over, I want it to be done.

I know, the voice growls, that’s why we’re here.

“No,” Lisa says, “not like that, not like you want.” She tries to stand, stares at the door, wills herself to reach it, turn the knob, escape.

Knew you were weak, the voice says. Tried to be nice, really, I did, thought we’d figured out a perfect little win win so we could both get what we want, but now I’ve gotta push you off the stage, darlin. You’re going into storage and you’re never getting out. Say good bye, Lisa.

She remembers the man’s name, now. “Dean.” His eyes are wet. “Run.”

Oh, that’s it, you double-crossing piece of shit!

It’s the first Monday in September, Lisa thinks. Someone needs to make sure Ben gets to school on time. She should be there. She’s supposed to be there, she just can’t remember how to find her way home.

“Lisa! Lisa!” He’s shaking her. Why won’t he stop shaking her?

Good bye, Lisa.

The blankness descends.


End file.
